


The Monster in the Dark

by wonderlandiscrumbling



Category: Fright Night (2011), Twilight (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Blood Drinking, Blood and Violence, Graphic Description, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:27:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25381588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderlandiscrumbling/pseuds/wonderlandiscrumbling
Summary: It had always been the elephant in the room that they never discussed, but now there isn't much choice when there's a corpse between them.
Relationships: Aro (Twilight)/Peter Vincent
Comments: 17
Kudos: 49





	The Monster in the Dark

Aro didn’t view himself as a monster, he hadn’t for centuries now. He simply viewed himself as just another creature on this planet that did what he must to survive like any other creature, and if survival required him to feast upon human blood given willingly or not then so be it. He hadn’t felt guilt for this, not until this very moment as he crouched on the ground of a park, his black Armani suit further darkened with blood that seeped through its expensive velvet and silk fabrics sticking to his pale graying flesh, a young woman clutched in his arms as if he were embracing her, her head lolling to the side, eyes wide and bulging, lips parted in a scream that had been cut short, and his fangs still were sunken into her neck, flesh ripped and mangled like hamburger meat, her blood continuing to flow into his mouth, over his tongue and down his throat filling him with a warmth that the undead desperately sought out, a warmth that he hadn’t felt ever since a creature dragged him into the woods. 

Brown eyes gaze down at him, the light of the lamppost reflects on those familiar fear filled eyes causing them to appear lighter, amber like the whiskey his lover drinks on a near constant basis. Peter hasn’t blinked, not since he came upon this horrific scene, his hands are at his sides, fists clenching and unclenching and Aro can smell the sweat and the fear on him, it’s nearly intoxicating, and truly he is ashamed of himself for thinking of such a thing about the mortal he’s fallen for. His own crimson eyes stare up at Peter, fangs slowly retract from the woman’s mangled flesh, her blood rolls slowly down her neck, her body is heavy in his arms. Peter opens and closes his mouth, a sound comes forth, but it isn’t words or even a scream. It’s more akin to a whimper, words catching and choking and then Peter takes one painfully slow step back, the bottom of his black leather boots scrape against the concrete of the sidewalk and the sound is absolutely deafening like a pin dropping. 

Slowly Aro lowers the woman’s corpse to the ground, he lays her gently as if she were a fragile living thing, not a corpse. Peter eyes him with caution as Aro rises to his feet, he knows without seeing himself if he were capable of such a thing, that he looks all the bit a monster. He feels her cooling drying blood around his mouth and on his neck, he winces at the discomfort he feels as the muggy Nevada air that hangs heavy causes his clothes to cling to him, he wonders idly if he can even get this suit cleaned or if it will simply need replacing, a shame he thinks, he’d just bought it thirty years ago. His thoughts and attention flicker back to Peter who continues to stand there staring, and Aro isn’t quite sure how he feels. A gnawing disgusting sliver of guilt and shame does wiggle its way into his mind, causes his chest to ache, and on some instinct he does in fact want to hold him in his arms and promise him that he will never do this to him, but he knows what Peter has witnessed, the trauma he has endured, and this is the elephant in the room that they have never discussed during their four years of knowing each other.

“Peter-“ he begins taking a cautious step towards him, he keeps his bloodied hands visible in a vain attempt to show he means no harm to him. 

Peter’s eyes flicker for just a second to his hands, there is so much blood on them that it at a glance appears he is wearing red leather gloves, his eyes meet Aro’s again and he swallows hard, tears well up in his eyes, and he blinks at them until they fall down his pale freckled cheeks and he lets out a shuddering breath as he takes another step back adding distance between them.

“Wh-what the fuck Aro?” He asks at last, his voice comes out choked, a near squeak of panic, and more tears fall down his cheeks as he continues to step back until the heel of his foot catches on a rock and he tumbles backwards falling to the ground with a thud and a grunt. He scrambles backwards, panicked eyes fixed on the vampire and Aro watches him as he begins rummaging through the pocket of his impossibly tight blue jeans searching for something.

Deep down he knows he should just leave, turn to mist and vanish into the night and give this time, but that doesn’t feel quite right. He longs to explain himself, to make Peter see and understand that this is who and what he is, what he’s been for centuries now.

‘I am so very old.’ He thinks mournfully to himself as he kneels before the younger man, a man of only thirty, while Aro has watched kingdoms be built then burned to the ground, has attended the balls held by royalty, has watched Rome be burnt to the ground, he witnessed the building of America, he’s dined with presidents and kings and sultans. He has lived a life that Peter never questions him about, because Peter doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want to acknowledge what Aro is, he doesn’t want to recognize that he is a thousand years old, that behind closed and currently bloodied lips lie two sharp fangs, and beneath his pallid chest rest a heart that ceased beating so long ago.

Cautiously he reaches out a bloodied hand, to what? To caress his cheek, to brush his fingers through soft locks of brown hair he’s pet hundreds of times over the years, to comfort him?

It shouldn’t surprise him as much as it does when Peter pulls the rosary from his pocket and thrust it forth, the cross that dangles from the black and brown string of beads nearly hits Aro’s face and on instinct the vampire pulls back baring his fangs, hissing as eyes narrow at the symbol of Christ. It isn’t the man, the son of God, it isn’t God itself or any deity that harms and scares vampires. It is the belief, the belief in something, the fear that comes with that belief that fills the blood of humans with a fear so great that no words can describe it. So Aro stays back, eyes fixed on the rosary never noticing as Peter finally manages to climb to his feet, the beads still clutched tightly in his fist. Aro remains on his knees, grass and mud stain and soak into the fabric and he knows he will have to throw this suit away, a shame really.

“Peter, please.” He pleas with him, his voice is soft, pitiful really.

A part of him is angry with himself, with this human. This human who has made him nearly forget himself, who and what he is. He is a Volturi, one of few and many with great power and authority. Yet here he kneels upon the cold dirty ground in some park in this shit hole of a city that Peter loves so dearly and he feels his deadened heart breaking as he gazes up at the man, the mere mortal that he loves more than he’s loved for centuries now. He longs to reach for him, to hold his hands in his, but also he longs to sink his fangs into the pale flesh of his throat, to taste his flesh, to listen to it rip and tear, and he imagines his lover’s blood would be sweet.

He blinks and shakes his head, hair falling over his bloodied face, strands sticking to his cheeks, and he wonders for a moment how the Cullen boy manages it. How do you love a mortal and never once find yourself longing to rip into their supple flesh?

“No, stay the fuck away from me.” His voice is firmer this time, but still there’s a tremor there and he looks over the top of Aro’s head back at the woman who lays on the ground at an odd crumpled angle like a doll tossed to the side after a child grew bored of playing with it.

Aro notices him trembling despite the heat, goosebumps rising on his skin, tears continue to fall down his cheeks and his eyes are filled with so much fear and hatred when he looks at Aro again.

“You knew what I am, you know this is what I do Peter.” 

Peter goes to speak, but quickly snaps his mouth shut, he gives his head a shake as if refusing this truth. He knows, he’s always known, Aro has never pretended to be one of the vampires who pretends they are fine with living off the blood of rats and livestock. He is royalty, he is wealth, and he is more powerful than most humans. Slowly he rises to his feet and still it hurts to see Peter regarding him with cautious fear, but he makes no move to get closer to the human. Though in the back of his mind he knows he can outrun him, he could easily grasp the wrist holding the rosary, could shove him onto his knees and rip into his throat. The thought causes Aro to take a step back adding to the distance between them.

He closes his eyes and sighs, he runs his fingers back through his mane of silken black hair, and when he opens them again Peter remains standing there like a frightened child.

“I think you should leave now.” His voice is gentle yet firm as he speaks these words.

He half expects Peter to be stubborn as he typically is and argue him, refuse to leave, Hell maybe even drive a stake through his chest, but instead he takes several steps back before turning on his heel and running into the darkness, back towards his black convertible parked in the lot. Aro watches him run away, even as the distance grows between them, he can hear Peter’s thundering heartbeat and his labored breathing. He wonders if he’ll see him again, if with time and indulgence in liquor Peter will be able to forget and repress, to hold him in his arms again as if he were a human and not a monster. Some part of him doubts that and it hurts, he aches to know he’s potentially lost his love, and for the first time since he was turned Aro finds himself repulsed by what he is.


End file.
